


Run-In With a Rod

by charlidoodle



Category: NCIS
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:35:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26019661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/charlidoodle/pseuds/charlidoodle
Summary: Jack has had it with Gibbs’ and his anger towards their current case. This leads to Gibbs going solo...
Relationships: Jethro Gibbs/Jacqueline "Jack" Sloane
Comments: 18
Kudos: 92





	1. She’s Had It

Oh she had definitely had it. She had had it last night when he yelled at the team for not having caught the bad guy yet. She had had it this morning when he stormed out of their meeting with Vance. She had had it after he had blown her off numerous times on the basis of being too busy to talk about “mind games and feelings”. But all in all, it was standing in the bullpen as he harked on his team yet again for not having a satisfying lead that definitely proved that she had in fact (spoiler alert) had it with him. 

\- - - 

“We go through every name on that list until we find him. Ya got that?” Gibbs barked, slamming his fist down on the desk in front of him. 

“Boss, we’ve run that list twice now,” McGee croaked, his right hand clenched in a fist in preparation for the yelling match he had just voluntarily signed himself up for. 

“Yeah but you know what we found McGee? Nothing. We found nothing. Our current lead points to the father being on this list, and all of our evidence points to the missing kid being with the father. We search until we find him goddamnit!” 

No desk hitting followed, just a spiteful look shot at Tim that felt relatively similar to being slapped in the face. 

“No one disagrees with you Gibbs, but I think we’ve ruled out this list as a viable lead. It’s getting us no where,” said Torres with a little more confidence than McGee. His tiredness had clearly clouded his better judgement. 

The look that McGee received couldn’t even compete with the one being sent Torres’ way. Gibbs’ mouth opened to dispute every word that had just been shared when Bishop jumped in. 

“We are working to find a new lead with Kasie, Gibbs. We’ll get him, we just need a little more time.” Her voice mirrored the strength of Torres’. 

“You two,” Gibbs grunted, pointing between Torres and Bishop as he spoke. “A new lead by 6am. McGee, go through that list again. Do I make myself clear?”

Just before a round of “yes boss” filled the bullpen, Jack stepped into his side. 

“Hey, let’s take a sideline,” she murmured, trying her best to keep her voice low and reassuring. 

“Go help McGee with the list,” Gibbs snapped, his eyes reaching her’s just moments after he gave the order. His gaze remained sharp, but it faltered ever so slightly under the sharpness of her own. 

“I think we should talk, GIbbs. Just a five minute sideline.” Her tone was soft but she had a way of asking for things without really making it sound like there was another option. Gibbs refused to take her bait. 

“Work now or find something else to do, Jack,” he snarled with a tone like gasoline, exploding the fire that had been growing inside Jack’s head for the past few days. 

“Oh okay, Gibbs. You want to threaten to sideline ME? Fine. If you don’t want to hear it in private, because five minutes will, I don’t know, cause MORE harm than YOU already have to this case? Well then let’s talk in public.” Jack’s voice was growing in volume by each phrase, the undeniable tension growing tighter as she stepped in closer to his desk. 

“These agents, who happen to the best damn ones around, also happen to be insane enough to put up with you. But let’s not talk about you. You can keep staying up all night, refusing to eat, and barking orders down everyone’s throat. Knock yourself out. But this team, the one who you couldn’t solve cases without, needs a break. They need to go home and refuel. It’s one in the morning for God’s sake. So Gibbs, you either send them home right now, or you send them home after I go up to Leon’s office and get an official order to send them home. Ya got that?”

Her face was stone cold and seeping rage. She was within a foot from his desk and she wasn’t stepping back now. She refused to break eye contact with him the whole time she spoke and it was effective. The fire in her eyes was electric and her facial structure was so razor sharp that not a single innocent bystander dared to move in fear she might snap. The silence was intoxicating. Bishop, McGee, and Torres shared similar faces of shock but they refused to make eye contact with one and other. 

“Get going,” he seethed, waving his hand around the room, never breaking away from Jack’s gaze. 

The quiet sound of thankfulness and bags being quickly stuffed filled the room. Peeling away from her starring contest with Gibbs, Jack plastered on one of her award winning smiles. 

“And because your loyal leader, and currently the biggest pain in my ass, is a man of few words, let me share with you some very clear instructions. Each of you will go home right now. You will sleep and then you will haul ass back into this bullpen at 8am. Eat a good breakfast. Oh, and coffee will be on your desk in the morning.” 

Turning back to Gibbs, her smile dropped. “I’d say the same goes for you, but I guess I shouldn’t press my luck after you so graciously let me speak for a whole two minutes.”

And with that, she scooped up her coat and work bag off of the floor, where she had abandoned them hours ago, and made her way towards the elevator. Relief filled the bullpen as each agent allowed their shoulders to slowly drop. Murmuring quiet goodnights to Gibbs, none of them dared to make much noise until they were safely inside the elevator. 

“Sorry I got a little upset in there,” Jack sighed. “The last thing you probably needed was another person yelling.” 

“Are you kidding me?” Torres practically yelled. “We needed you in there! Thank you.” 

The elevator ding followed his praise and the doors slid open. 

“Yes, thank you Jack,” said McGee, exhaustion filling each word. To Jack’s surprise, he reached over and gave her a big hug before stepping off the elevator. Torres followed suit, planting a kiss on her cheek before breaking away. As the boys walked out into the parking garage, Bishop turned to Jack for a hug. 

“I don’t like when mom and dad fight,” Bishop whispered once her arms were wrapped securely around Jack. “But thanks for letting us go home, mom.” 

Jack smiled faintly at the term as Bishop gave her one final squeeze and then made her way out to find her car. Standing in the elevator alone, the doors threatening to close on her, her adrenaline began to wear off. She had no problem keeping Gibbs in line, but the look on his face as she yelled was a look of betrayal. The way the scene was replaying in her head was not sitting well in her stomach. She wanted to be on his side, but holy hell he was making it difficult. With anger still alive and well inside her veins, she stepped out onto the pavement in search of her Mini Cooper. She had a feeling it was going to be a long night.


	2. Run-In With a Rod

The bourbon wasn’t appealing to him tonight. The fire inside his mind could not be aided by the burn of alcohol. The case images spread out in front of him were blurry and he had to remind himself to blink every couple minutes. Something about this case wasn’t adding up, but he knew he was close. Bringing one of the shots of the deceased closer to his line of view, Gibbs traced his finger over a black scuff mark on the pavement that was tucked in beside the petty officer’s head. Kasie had ruled that it was most likely a motorcycle skid mark, but nothing had turned up in relation to such a vehicle and for more reasons than one, he wasn’t buying the theory. Slamming the photo down on his work bench, the image having become blurry once again, he reached for his phone. 

“Uhhhh, h-hello?” an extremely tired Kasie mumbled. 

“Kas, it’s Gibbs. Got a question for ya.” 

He heard the movement of sheets and the sound of feet meeting hardwood floors. 

“Oh, yeah, hi Gibbs. I, uh, one second,” she exclaimed with a forced enthusiasm. 

A big crash went through the line and then her voice returned. 

“Sorry Gibbs, couldn’t find my glasses. What’s up?” 

“How positive are you that a motorcycle fled the crime scene?” 

“I, uh, oh! Actually, I’m not very confident. I’m still running tests on the black residue in hopes of getting more answers. It’s your standard dried oil mark so,” she pondered, letting out a small yawn before continuing. “It’s definitely oil that can be used in a motorcycle, but there’s obviously more uses for it than that.” 

“Victim had oil and burn marks on his body as well,” Gibbs proded. 

“Yeah, yeah he did. Maybe the oil is tied to the murder weapon?” she questioned, letting out another yawn. “Still working on it Gibbs, but I’ll get something. Planning to revisit Mr. Leeman’s home first thing tomorrow morning.” 

“I’m going to take a look, but we can compare tomorrow. Thanks Kas.” 

Before she could respond he snapped his phone shut, feeling a little hop in his step as he headed upstairs. He hadn’t thought about the oil markings on the ground possibly being connected to the murder weapon. Maybe this was what they were missing. 

\- - - 

Mr. Leeman’s house was situated on a dead-end, suburban road with no street lights. With his high beams pouring onto the victim’s driveway, Gibbs slid out of his truck. The distinguished black marks glittered slightly under the light before him and he was immediately drawn to them. Kneeling, he picked a small chunk of the presumably dried oil off of the biggest marking with his fingernail and examined it in his palm. The warmth of his body was turning it gooey and the faint smell of tar greeted his nose.

“Tar?” he muttered aloud, to no one in particular. 

The second he allowed his words to intermingle with the open air of the vacant street, the hairs on the back of his neck shot up. The smallest presence of heat was felt on the side of his head. Carefully turning to investigate, a firm hand clasped his shoulder. Throwing an arm behind him in response, another hand grabbed Gibbs’ wrist. 

“Hot crow bar,” snarled the man behind him. 

Shit. Before Gibbs could make any further movements, a hot crow bar came over his shoulder and around to rest within inches of his neck. 

“Let’s not make any sudden movements.” 

The voice of the man was soft but unwavering. It was familiar. His grip was secure on the bottom of the rod and Gibbs could smell the heat of the tip more than he could see it. Maybe if he could duck down and get a foot out in front of his body he could kick down the bar? The man’s wrist was holding the weapon at an odd angle...

A car screeched to a halt in front of the house, demolishing all of his thoughts in mid-air. The sound of the tires squealing on the gravel road was deafening, but also distracting. The grip on Gibbs’ shoulder loosened and the crow bar nearly burnt off the stubble along his jawline as the man moved to face the car. Two high heels hit the pavement as a gun was reloaded. 

“Hands up!” a woman yelled, the words hitting Gibbs right in the heart and instantly softening it. It didn’t matter that his back was to the road, he knew that voice anywhere. 

“HEY! I said hands up!” Jack shouted, still ducked partially behind her car for protection. “Drop the weapon.” 

“I don’t think you want to shoot,” said the man calmly, turning to fully face Jack. 

“And I don’t think you want to kill him,” she countered, keeping her weapon drawn as she stepped out from behind the car. 

“No, YOU don’t want me to kill him,” he smirked, waving the burning hot crow bar out in front of her. 

“Most days I’d agree, but you caught me on an off day.” 

If he wasn’t so cognizant of the angry, armed man in front of him, Gibbs would have laughed out loud. Jack was buying him time and he knew it. He waited for the man to respond before acting on it. 

“Bullshit. You-“

And then Gibbs was on him. Swiveling quickly, knocking the man out by the knees. Jack learched forward in response, tucking her gun into her holster before swiftly making her way around the man to press her knee into his back. She caught one of his wrists while Gibbs disarmed the other. Digging a pair of handcuffs out of her coat pocket, she had the man restrained and inside the Charger within minutes.

“I’ll take him in,” Gibbs called out. 

Her head shot up at the sound of his voice. Her eyes reflected a fiercer fire than the one he was engulfed in hours before. The flames licked at his heart, his gut, and his eyes all at once. The emotion she was wordlessly and unapologetically displaying was nauseating. He waited for a response to his offer but it never came. She ducked into the car with nothing more than a glare and then she was gone.


	3. That’s Better

Gibbs drove back to the NCIS headquarters in search of the fire he was determined to put out, but there was no sign of Jack or the man. Reluctantly, he drove home. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the Charger parked in his driveway. She was no where to be seen outside so he cautiously moved to open his front door. Once inside he knew he was in for it. The storm that had been brewing all week was just about to break.

\- - -

Jack had called Torres on the way to NCIS with the man, who she had recognized immediately as the brother of the victim. With the amount of anger she was certain she had shown on the phone call, she knew Torres would be waiting patiently to take him in once she pulled up. After strict orders to take the morning off were given, Jack continued her route to Gibbs’ house. Tears spilled down her cheeks as she pulled into his driveway. She paced back and forth in his living room for about 20 minutes before his truck lights finally shone through the front room window.

\- - -

“Jack” was the only thing Gibbs got out before her mouth opened. He anticipated her to scream and shout. He expected an outburst like the one in the bullpen. He wasn’t ready for her voice to be soft. For some reason, that was a hell of a lot worse.

“Fuck you, Gibbs,” she whimpered. Her voice wasn’t weak, but it reeked with exhaustion.

“Jack, I-“

She raised her hand to silence him. His heart, as well as all the goddamn air in the room, stopped short.

“Fuck you,” she repeated louder than before. Tears started to stream down her face again, but not in a blubbering way. Her eyes were simply draining all the emotion that had built up in her body over the past week. “Fuck you and your stupid gut and your stupid rules and your stupid hot-headed personality.”

She stepped in closer to him and he didn’t dare move. Not when he could practically taste her tears. “Fuck you,” she grimaced, “and your stupid truck and your stupid boat and your stupid hair.” She jabbed him in the abdomen after every verbal blow.

Then there was a pause and he decided to take it.

“You’re right.”

The response caught her off guard, but only for a moment.

“Anything else?” he asked genuinely.

“Yeah,” she said sternly, “you’re really fucking lucky I’m in love with you or I would have just let him take you.”

His expression fell soft the second the words left her mouth. She stood in front of him with the composure of someone who had just told him what the temperature was outside or what she had eaten for dinner. The sass was still present but the anger had dissipated in a quickness he didn’t know was possible.

“You do something like that again and I’ll leave you.”

Linking her hands around his neck, she shot him a look only Jack could pull off in an extremely intimate position. It was all “I’m serious, I wanted to hurt you” with a mix of “I still might later”. His heart melted nevertheless.

“I don’t want to hurt you, Jack,” he croaked, attempting to find his voice within the emotional current that was crashing through his body.

“Then don’t make me come looking again, Cowboy.”

His hands found a home on her hips and he pulled her impossibly closer. “How’d ya know I was at Leeman’s?” he said, swallowing hard as his eyes travelled down her throat.

“Kasie called mom about dad sneaking out,” she said smugly right below his ear, her breath bone-chillingly warm. He could feel her smirk against his neck and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Coulda hurt yourself badly today, Cowboy.” Her hips swayed as she spoke and he swore he was going to lose his mind.

“Rather it be because of him than you most days, Sloane,” he chuckled, ghosting his lips over hers.

Reaching up in between them, she placed a thumb over his lower lip.

“I’m serious, that was stupid,” she said crossly; a cooler caramel swirled with the warmer one inside her iris. “And I don’t kiss stupid.”

“I’m sorry,” he confessed softly into her hair. “I really, really am.”

“That’s better,” she mumbled as she removed her thumb and replaced it with her lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All done :)

**Author's Note:**

> Never written a multi-chapter before! Let me know what you think :)


End file.
